Out of control
by KendraPendragon
Summary: Drunk!lock. Sherlock gets a call in the middle of the night to pick up Molly from the airport. Problem: Molly is drunk. And drunk Molly is a force even the brilliant consulting detective can't control. Birthday gift to Morbidbydefault.


A frown set on the consulting detective's brow when his mobile rang. It was the middle of the night, 2.32 a.m., to be precise.

Only Mycroft would call him that late and he definitely wasn't in the mood to talk to his big brother.

On the other hand, he was bored and Mycroft might have an interesting case.

With a sigh Sherlock pulled the phone out of his trousers to check the caller ID.

 _Oh._

It was Molly.

His heartbeat increased.

 _She's in danger!_

Sherlock wasted no more time and answered.

"Where are you, Molly?"

"Oh, it's you…um, hello, I'm Meena, Molly's friend."

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock was on his feet.

"…you know what, I better call someone else…on second thought, you certainly won't take advantage of her."

Sherlock was pacing. What the heck was this woman talking about?

"Let me start over. Hi, I'm-"

"Yes, I know. What is going on? Is Molly hurt?"

"No, she's not. It's my wedding day today…"

She made a little pause to wait for the congratulations. Sherlock let the moment pass.

"..and now we need to go to the airport for our honeymoon. The problem is that Molly is drunk and I don't just want to put her in a cab."

"You want me to pick her up."

"Would you?"

Sherlock sighed. Now he did wish Mycroft had called. He was tempted to say no, but then again, Molly Hooper had saved his life.

"Where are you?"

"Getting in a cab to the airport. We're a bit late. Could you please pick her up at Stansted?"

This was getting better and better. Curse this woman and her drinking problem.

"Fine."

"Thank you, that's really- No Molly, this cab! Where are you going? Molly! Robert, could you please catch her? Thanks- Look, I have to go. Stansted airport in an hour?"

"Yes."

"You're a life saver."

He was about to hang up when she spoke again.

"One last question. Have you ever been with drunk Molly?"

"No."

"Oh boy…Eh, okay. See you there."

And she hung up.

Sherlock shook his head.

Women.

~oOo~

An hour later Sherlock walked through the automatic doors into the departure hall of Stansted airport. It took him less than a second to spot Molly and the couple. Since it was the middle of the night, there were only a handful of passengers present.

Meena saw him first and raised her arm to wave him over. Molly, wearing her green jacket over a purple dress and carrying her shoes in her hands, turned her head, swaying a bit. Her face lit up and she gasped when she recognized him.

"Sherlock!" she screamed in excitement and rushed over to him.

An ' _uff_ ' left his throat when she jumped his bones, her arms wrapping around his neck and her heels digging into his shoulders.

Automatically his arms caught her.

A jolt rushed through him when she wrapped her legs around his hips and began placing wet little kisses on his cheek and throat.

"Molly!"

Meena tore Molly away from Sherlock and put her back on her feet. For a second Sherlock was too dumbfounded to react, his focus being on the saliva sticking to his cheek.

"Don't make me buy a newspaper and smack you on the nose. Behave yourself!"

Molly stuck out her tongue and giggled, snuggling up to Sherlock again, her arms snaking under his open coat and wrapping around his narrow hips. She buried her face in his chest and Sherlock heard her inhale deeply.

"What is wrong with her?" Sherlock couldn't help but ask, placing a hand under her chin so she would look at him.

She was wearing a big fat grin on her face and her eyes were unfocused, but he couldn't see any sign that she had been drugged.

"She's stinking drunk, that's what's wrong with her."

"I'm not drunk! You're drunk!" Molly protested and whirled her head around, swaying dangerously. Sherlock steadied her with an arm around her shoulders.

Meena sighed.

"I don't have time for this, Molly."

She stepped forward and cupped both Molly's cheeks with her hands, squishing them together.

"I will leave you with Mr Holmes now. He'll bring you home safely and you will sleep it off, okay? Promise to be a good girl."

"Nope!" Molly said through pursed lips and giggled again.

"She's fine, Meena", her husband joined the conversation. "We have to get to the gate."

Meena looked at Molly, worry in her face.

"Are you sure you can handle her? She's, well, you see how she is when she's drunk."

"I'm not drunk", Molly protested again, cuddling Sherlock.

Sherlock's body felt warmer than usual. He ignored it.

"She won't be a problem for me."

"Yes, I know. You're not interested in what she will offer you. It's a good thing she has you on speed dial. I would have had no idea whom to call instead."

"You're my number one, Sherly!" Molly chuckled against his throat. Her hot breath left goosebumps on his skin.

"You're on speed dial 1", Meena explained with a smile and an eyeroll.

"Come on, darling, we have to leave now."

"Yes, of course. Bye, Molly."

She pecked the smaller woman on the cheek, then she thanked Sherlock again.

Sherlock watched them hurry to the security gates, dragging their suitcases along.

Molly waved after them until Sherlock grabbed her wrist and spun her around.

He managed to untangle himself from his pathologist; until they were sitting in the cab.

They hadn't even left the airport premises when she shifted over to him.

"I'm cold", she said in a pitiful voice.

Before Sherlock could react though, Molly was climbing onto his lab. He protested of course, but his hands steadied her until she was sitting on his lap, his coat wrapped around both of them now.

With a long sigh, Molly leaned against his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

"You always smell so nice", she sang while Sherlock was still getting used to the feeling of her weight on top of him and her breast pressed against his chest. It was so hot. Was it normal for a breast to be that hot? She had said she was cold but that breast certainly didn't feel cold.

With a blissful sigh she snuggled even closer and wrapped her arms around him.

Sherlock's pulse was racing, he couldn't deny it.

He had always been so careful not to touch her too long. Somehow he had known his body would react to her. And hell, it did.

Her warmth, her soft body, her scent…it was too much.

Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to get his animalistic instincts under control.

 _The body is just transport. The body is just transport. The body is just transport._

He repeated this for quite a long while, but it helped. His pulse normalized and the heat he felt only came from her body now.

Just 50 more minutes and Molly would be in bed and he would be-

"Would you kiss me?"

He blinked.

As surprised as he was he looked down and met her innocent brown eyes.

"I'd really fancy one now."

What on earth was he to say to that?

"I don't think that this would be a good idea."

He really thought it wasn't.

"Why not?"

Ah, that smile. So playful and mischievous. He had to admit, she looked adorable. And the fingers playing with the curls in his neck felt very...pleasant.

"Because you're intoxicated, Molly", he replied gently.

Molly exhaled soundly.

"You're no fun", she complained, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He chuckled and let her sulk. Still, he held her in his arms, felt her heartbeat against his chest and her hair tickled his throat. A part of him liked holding her like this, despite the discomfort of having to share his coat.

Many more minutes passed in silence and Sherlock thought her asleep until she spoke once more.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Why are we not having sex?"

A snort coming from the driver. Sherlock glared at him through the rear view mirror.

"I'm really good at it, you know? Do you want me to show you?"

Heaven help, that woman was about to straddle his lap!

"No!"

Almost panicky Sherlock caught her arms and legs and pulled her back down on his legs.

Molly struggled and he had no other choice than to tightly wrap his arms around her. To his dismay, she giggled. Apparently, she rather enjoyed his firm embrace.

Sherlock puffed out some air when her lips landed on his throat. A jolt rushed through his body and shiver after shiver did she sent over his skin, which each damned hot, open mouthed kiss.

"Molly" he croaked, "stop it!"

"Why?"

She didn't stop.

Dear Lord, her tongue was dancing little circles on his sensitive throat and his body…his body liked it _a lot_.

"Because we're not alone", he hissed through gritted teeth, trying to pull her away from him.

Surely her modesty would clear up her head, wouldn't it?

Molly's head whirled around and her pinned-up hair hit his throat, a few strands sticking to the saliva she had left there.

"Henry, would you mind if we shagged in your cab?"

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut.

Now he finally understood what her friend had been so worried about. Drunken Molly was out of control.

"The name is Roger…and no, I wouldn't."

"See? Henry doesn't mind."

While Molly was attacking his throat again, Sherlock shot the cabbie another glare.

"Thanks. Thanks a lot."

"You're very welcome", Roger snickered.

Sherlock and Molly wrestled some more, him trying to get her off of him without hurting her and she trying to get as close to him as possible. Molly had a lot of fun doing so, giggling and laughing and kissing his throat until it felt soaked through.

"Stop playing coy, Sherly, I know you want to. I can feel how much you like it."

 _Dear Lord!_

Sherlock swallowed hard and felt a blush creep up his cheeks.

An erection was the last thing he needed now.

Oh, traitorous body! How it loved her lips and tongue, her little hands tearing at his clothes and hair and her buttocks rubbing over his groin! Not fair. Not fair at all.

Desperate now, Sherlock cupped Molly's face with both hands and made her look at him. Both were panting, Molly through squished cheeks and fish-lips.

"Stop it Molly! You're drunk! You don't know what you're doing!"

"I kno' exoctly whot I'm doon. I wont to moke love to yo."

Another shiver ran down his spine. Even with this ridiculous face between his hands and her moving fish-lips her saying this made him want…God, he wanted to so bad.

 _Bloody erection, bloody instincts!_

Sherlock rested his forehead against hers. Breathing the same breath as his pathologist was enticing.

"Not while you're drunk. Please."

Ah, the magic word. Sherlock hated it. Molly knew he did. Even through the fog of alcohol inside her head she finally realized that he was desperate.

The fists in his curls loosened and her hands moved to cup his face.

"I'm sorry", she whispered.

Sherlock nodded, unable to speak.

His head felt unpleasantly dizzy. His heart was racing in his chest. And his groin...it was on fire.

With every second that passed, the animal inside him pulled his rationality further into the shadows. And the woman on top of him with her soft, curvy body, her delicious scent and her ragged breaths made it happen even faster.

"I will not take advantage of you", he whispered, not knowing if he was ensuring her or himself.

"Oh, Sherlock, please do."

Why? Why on earth did she do this to him? Why did she say these things in this enticing voice, making him want her even more?!

No! No, he wasn't a mindless animal! Mind over matter! He was in control, he was-

Wet, warm lips on his.

An explosion inside his head.

Rationality was dragged into the shadows with a scream.

The animal roared to life.

With a dark moan against her lips Sherlock locked her in his arms, pressing her soft form against his unyielding chest. His mouth sought hers, hungry, fierce, desperate.

Her taste, God help him! Sweeter than he had dared to dream. And her tongue, Jesus, brisk and velvety, driving him insane.

Suddenly, she was straddling him and he could feel…he moaned again.

The contact of their sexes cleared his head at least a little bit.

"God, Molly. We can't. We can't."

"Nooo, please don't start thinking now!"

She kissed him again.

He kissed her back until his head was spinning. Then he pulled her back.

"Someone has to think."

"Why? Did thinking ever feel this good?"

Was he getting insane or did this make absolute sense?

Of course thinking didn't feel as good as having his pathologist on his lap snogging him! Nothing had ever felt like this!

He snogged her some more.

One last time, he told himself.

This last time ended after several minutes, with swollen lips, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel and his hands on her bare arse.

Only her nails scratching over his chest made him realize that things were getting out of hand.

With a desperate gasp he summoned the last bit of strength left in him and hurled the sweet temptress off of him and onto her seat. Molly landed with a frustrated moan.

"NO!" he yelled desperately when she was about to pounce him again.

"You stay there…and I'll stay here…and we will **not** continue this!"

He watched her with a heaving chest, the skin turning red where she had scratched it. She looked at him with big, hurt doe eyes, but he fought the urge to grasp her again.

"Spoil sport", came the unhelpful comment from the cabbie. Sherlock wanted to kill him.

Heavy panting echoed through the car for another minute. Sherlock had re-buttoned his shirt and had wrapped his coat around him to cover his prominent erection. Molly was facing away from him now, her head resting against the fogged window.

She was sleeping, thank goodness.

She did so until they finally arrived at Baker Street.

After paying the obnoxious cabbie – who drove away with a snickered ' _enjoy your night'_ – Sherlock carried her upstairs to his flat. Molly woke when he took the first step on the second flight of stairs.

She looked around in confusion.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"Where's Meena?"

She rubbed her eyes and smudged her mascara.

"On the way to her honeymoon. She asked me to bring you home."

"But…this is Baker Street."

He stopped dead.

Darn, she was right.

He hadn't even thought about her flat. After everything that had happened tonight…Baker Street was the only logocal destination. Why?

At this point he didn't even want to know what made his brain decide for it.

"She asked me to take care of you since you're highly intoxicated."

"I don't feel intoxicated."

He was standing in the hallway now, still carrying her in his arms bridal style.

"You were half an hour ago."

"Oh."

"Don't you remember?"

"Um…"

 _What the-?_

How could she forget the cab ride and most importantly their snogging?

"…no, not really. The last thing I remember is being outside the hotel with Meena and Rob."

Sherlock fought the urge to let her drop to the floor.

Never had he been so insulted!

She had just forgotten his kisses!

Outrageous!

As if he kissed her every day!

Their first kiss and she forgot it!

Curse that woman!

"You can have the bed, I won't be sleeping tonight", he said coolly, carried her into his bedroom swiftly and let her drop onto the mattress. He was already by the door again when she thanked him.

"No worries."

He slammed the door shut.

To hell with her, he thought bitterly.

Sherlock was in the living room, swearing to himself he would never fall for Molly Hooper again when the door to his bedroom opened and said person slipped out, her face washed and his purple shirt around her otherwise naked frame.

His jaw dropped and she grinned, crossing the distance and slinging his arms around his shoulders as soon as she reached him.

Oh, how his hands hurried to grab her buttocks! How obediently his head bowed and his lips pursed to melt against hers!

"Thank you for taking such good care of me, Sherly."

Whilst her lips brushed over his he didn't even mind this blasted nickname.

"I love you."

He didn't feel the kiss she planted on his mouth next.

All of his mind and body was busy processing this little, softly spoken confession.

Another giggle and she was gone, leaving him alone.

He blinked.

His heart was pinned to his ribcage.

Everything was falling into place now and he finally, finally understood the utter devotion he felt for his petite pathologist.

It was simple, really.

"I love you, too", he whispered into the darkness.


End file.
